


Regina Rex

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Dom/sub, Episode s08e01: Winterfell, F/F, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Homophobia, Masturbation, Multi, Power Dynamics, Repression, Sexual Fantasy, Trauma, internalized kinkshaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 15:19:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18471622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Sansa used to dream of a queen, with eyes like jewels and bright blonde hair shimmering in the against the sunlit snows, a queen who's every word dripped with power, and yet still looked as sweet as her lemon cakes.Now she meets one, and she hates it.





	Regina Rex

Sansa used to dream of a queen, with eyes like jewels and bright blonde hair shimmering in the against the sunlit snows, a queen who's every word dripped with power, and yet still looked as sweet as her lemon cakes.

But that was a long time ago, when she was but a child, still fooling herself desperately as to why she would think of such things. She doesn't not bother anymore, she has spent too much of her life lying for survival to want to lie to herself, but she would also be lying if she said she was comfortable with it. That is neither here nor there though. In any case, such dreams should have been long since crushed since the day she met Cersei Lannister – the woman who was everything she wanted, but vile, rotten at the core.

Daenerys Targaryen is beautiful, and she is powerful, but Sansa will not let herself be fooled by that. She can't.

Jon has, and it makes her want to scream in frustration. Sansa believes him when he says he wants to do the right thing by the North, but he wants _her_ as well, and Sansa doesn't know if he can tell the two apart anymore. She isn't sure she can. She isn't even sure she can blame him.

Her head aches as she wonders whether to feel jealous this woman might have stolen her brother away, or jealous that Jon could so easily let himself kneel to the Dragon Queen when she never could. She's certain she shouldn't feel either.

She is the Lady of Winterfell; for the first time in her life, she has control, and she would not give it up for anything. She knows what happens when she does. She is a vassal, unwillingly, but she will be nobody's pawn ever again. No matter how many times Jon tells her Daenerys will be a good queen, she cannot take that risk.

But then she spots Daenerys across the courtyard, her white furs melting into the snow, and she loathes that there is a part of her that wishes she too could run to the queen's side, kneel to her, be hers.

After Joffrey, after _Ramsay_ , she should never want to have to submit to anyone again, but...

In her childhood bedroom where she first shyly, shamefully, reached between her legs with her fingers, she is haunted all night by visions of that Dragon Queen. She doesn't come naked, nor in her winter furs, but in fierce, black Valyrian leather – she makes her foreignness plain for all to see. She commands Sansa from her bed, tells her to strip, and Sansa obeys eagerly. Who would dare defy the queen?

Daenerys is not rough, is not cruel, is not anything she was afraid of. She is gentle. She admires Sansa's body, runs her delicate fingers over every nook and cranny, smiles as Sansa's nipples harden in the winter air. _You're beautiful_ , she whispers.

That's what Daenerys said that the moment she arrived, and Sansa knows it was just a meaningless courtesy, but a childish voice at the back of her mind won't stop reminding her of it.

The queen delves two fingers into Sansa's folds, makes her gasp – then she licks the juices off her fingers, tells Sansa she is sweet and warm.

Alone in her bed, Sansa feels a stab of self-loathing, for after all these years she's learned she must be cold inside to live – and yet, the part of her that used to dream of being a southern lady moans.

She does not know if Daenerys has ever been with a woman, but Sansa cannot imagine she would be at all shy. She would work Sansa over so thoroughly, leave her trembling on the edge, almost ready to fall to the floor, and then she would stop. _Come, my lady. Show your queen how loyal you are._

And Sansa would do it. As Daenerys perched upon the desk she writes letters and signs statutes and truly, rules Winterfell from, she would crawl to her on her knees, shaking with need. She would bury her face in the Dragon Queen's cunt and drink up her taste, her scent, her heat and sweetness and her foreign spice, and she would be grateful for the honour.

Queen Daenerys would moan, loud and high and proud, gently combing her fingers through Sansa's hair to urge her on. _Yes, yes, like that, my lady. Such a pretty little lady. Such a pretty, good girl..._

When Sansa comes on her own fingers, she is chanting under her breath: “Your Grace, Your Grace thank you, Your Grace.”

But she shudders and comes down, and the reality hits her. It would be nice to think that Daenerys really is the queen she dreams of, the one Jon tells her she is, that they can trust her. But they cannot. Sansa can't let her lusts fool her – she will never do that again.

She groans and rolls on her side, grabbing a pillow to try and block it all out. But it is no use. She is trapped in her castle with a queen she is now sworn to, and a dream she will never be rid of.

 


End file.
